


If We Go Down [Then We Go Down Together]

by ainewrites



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, I'm horrible at tagging, sorry - Freeform, there some mention of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: Erin Gilbert. Jillian Holtzmann. Colleagues, partners, friends. They never thought that there friendship would reach the something more they both crave.Until, maybe, it does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently rewatched Ghostbusters for the second time, and this 'fic has been floating around in my head since then. Partly, because I love Erin and Holtzmann, and partly because I'm desperate for more of these characters.
> 
> The title of this 'fic is from Paris by The Chainsmokers.

They’ve had busts go wrong before. That’s not unusual.

They’ve gotten more ghosts than they’ve been expecting, a Class III entity instead of a Class II that was reported, busts in dangerous locations, and more than one group of angry humans, furious about something.

But this bust, though. This one went really, really wrong.

-

It started with a panicked, 4AM phone call. Abby was the one in the firehouse that night, not Holtzmann, which was a good thing because even though the engineer had moved onto the firehouse full time once her rent was up, she’s a notoriously heavy sleeper, and would have slept right through the phone call.

And so, at exactly 4:07AM, Erin gets a call from Abby.

“The girl said that there were three of them. Apparently, she and her older brother are alone in the house and are hiding in the bathroom. She sounded about thirteen, Erin, and she sounded terrified.”

Erin nods, blindly stumbling across her bedroom in search for her jeans, before remembering that Abby can’t see her. “I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

“I still need to call Patty, but Erin,” Abby says, and pauses. “I think…I think they’re Class IV entities. And this girl and her brother are alone.”

Erin decides to forgo the jeans.

-

There’s the usual bustle of people around the firehouse when Erin gets there, still in her pajama bottoms and her ancient MIT sweatshirt. She’s greeted by Holtzmann, already in her jumpsuit, yellow sunglasses dangling off one ear, a crazy grin on her face. She slings an arm around Erin, steering her toward the row of jumpsuits hanging off a rack.

“Nice pants,” she says, looking appreciatively down. “Veeery nice.”

Erin blushes, tugging at her pajamas-black, emblazoned with little cartoon ghosts-and mutters “they were a Christmas gift from Abby.”

Holtzmann responds by laughing, and Erin can feel a warm, heavy weight settle low in her stomach. She’s been getting this feeling whenever she’s around Holtzmann, lately, and it’s almost _disappointing_ when the engineer breaks away, bounding over to Abby to explain to her about some new technology on her proton pack.

She strips out of her pajama pants and sweatshirt before she dons the suit. She learned extremely quickly that the fabric does not keep the ectoplasm off her, and she’s ruined far too many pairs of clothes. The stuff does not come out easily. And after mournfully throwing away what used to be her favorite pair of jeans, now crusty and reeking of the slime, she’s taken to wearing only her bra and underwear under the suit.

She’d come to regret this later.

-

The house is large and sprawling and screams old money, and the boy that answers the door looks eighteen or nineteen, and there’s a girl cowering behind him, maybe twelve, and both look _terrified._

Somewhere, inside the house, there’s a massive crash, and the brother and sister both nearly jump out of their skin, and somewhere inside Erin’s chest there’s a little _twinge_ , because she knows those looks, that utter terror.

Patty tells them to leave the house, to stay far away, and Abby’s P.K.E meter looks like it’s trying to spin its way out of her hand before they’re even hallway down the front hallway.

Holtzmann has a wild grin on her face, bouncing her new “toy” in the palms of her hand. It looks a lot like the ghost chipper, except in a tiny format, and there’s a half-crazy light in her eyes. And, without hesitating, she charges forward.

-

Five. There are five, not three, but five Class III malevolent entities in the house. And they put up a fight. Erin gets slimed within the first ten minutes, because _the stuff is out to get her._  And while it’s difficult, and time consuming, and exhausting work, they manage to get four of the five contained within an hour or so.

But the fifth, it’s the fifth that causes problems.

“I’ve got the sucker cornered!” Holtzmann shouts, triumphantly, gleefully, and Erin skids around the corner, the soles of her rainboots barely gripping the smooth marble floors, now covered in a layer of slick ectoplasm. She hears Patty somewhere behind her, doesn’t think anything of flying into the room with Holtzmann.

Two more seconds. If the ghost had waited two more seconds, they would have gotten it contained.

But instead, it swells up, and explodes with the force of a bomb blast.

Erin is aware of light and sound and she’s flying through the air and the windows are shattering and the table is splintering and she hits the wall with a bright starburst of pain, and there’s nothing for a while.

-

She doesn’t ever think she passes out, really. If she does, it’s only for a few seconds, but she comes too with a ringing in her ears and a throbbing in her head and everything _hurts_. And she tries to sit up but there’s pain and throbbing and her head feels like it’s about to split open and she almost lies back down but then she sees the blonde hair amidst the rubble.

“Holtzmann!”

Half crawling, half stumbling, Erin rushes across the room, and gasps at what she sees.

“Is it that bad?” Holtzmann asks, and Erin can tell she’s trying to joke but her words end with a gasp of pain.

There’s glass, a shard of glass, sticking out of Holtzmann’s side, and her jumpsuit is turning red and wet with blood.

“Oh my god!” Erin feels like throwing up, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the pain or because of the blood, and when she reaches to put pressure on the wound, Holtzmann gasps again, and tears well in the corners of her eyes.

“Patty, Abby!” Erin shrieks, feeling the panic pushing in against her windpipe. “Someone! CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

Someone-Abby, Patty, she doesn’t know who, turns the corner in the room and gasps, but Erin is too focused on Holtzmann to turn to see who it is.

“It’s going to be alright,” Erin says, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Just…just lie still. Don’t move, okay, Holtz?”

“If you insist.” Holtzmann’s smile is tight with pain, and her face is pale. “I think I may need to fix my proton pack.”

Erin follows her eyes to the lump of machinery, vaguely recognizable as Holtzmann’s pack buried in the rubble. But Holtzmann’s small whimper draws her attention back to the engineer, and something inside her chest _hurts._

Sirens can be heard outside, but all Erin can pay attention too is the tears of pain gathering at the edges of Holtzmann’s eyes.

-

Everything after that becomes a blur. Holtzmann crying in agony as the EMT’s load her onto a stretcher as carefully as they can. The throbbing in her head reaching levels of pain she didn’t know was possible, and her throwing up in the corner. Someone insisting she get into an ambulance, as well. Abby clinging to her arm, tightly, tightly, and…

The bright, cold lights of the ER. Then, the dimmer, warmer lights of a small hospital room.

She’s sitting in a hospital gown, and the lights hurt her eyes. Abby is next to her, and Patty is on her other side, a brace around her wrist and a cut on her cheek.

“Where’s Holtzmann?” Erin asks, and Abby frowns, worry tracing across her features.

“She’s…she’s in recovery, now. Apparently, it’s a miracle that the glass didn’t puncture any internal organs, but she lost a significant amount of blood.”

“The doctors said we could see her when she wakes up,” Patty says when Abby pauses. “Right now she’s still under anesthesia.”

“And you guys?”

Patty and Abby exchange a glance.

“I’m fine,” Abby says. “I was far enough away from the blast not to have anything hit me.”

“I sprained a wrist and got a little cut up,” Patty says, “But other than that, I’m good.” She looks at Erin, worriedly. “What about you, baby? How’re you doing?”

“My head hurts.” Erin pushes her face into her hands, screwing up her face.

“Yes, that would be the concussion,” Abby says. She reaches out and places a hand on Erin’s leg, recognizing where Erin’s train of thought is headed. “You couldn’t have prevented it, you know that, right?”

Erin responds by bursting into tears.

“Oh, Er.” Abby wraps her in a hug, and Patty grabs her should and squeezes tight.

Erin doesn’t know how long they stay like that.

-

Holtzmann looks so…small, lying in the hospital bed. No one had taken the pins from her hair, so it was still up in the elaborate style that she always had it in. Although now, it was less artfully messy and leaning more toward bedhead, and that caused a pang somewhere in Erin’s chest and she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Holtz?” Erin asks, sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

She wasn’t even aware that Holtzmann was awake before she turned her head and rasped, “come here often?”

Erin wasn’t sure to laugh or cry, although she was leaning toward the latter when Holtz made to sit up, then let out a little gasp-sob, and collapsed back down.

“Hey, Holtzy,” Patty says. “How’re you feeling, baby?”

“Like I just got sucked into the ghost chipper and spit back out.”

“Great.” Abby reaches over Erin to grab Holtzmann’s arm. “They said they need to keep you here for observation for another 32 hours, but then we can take you home.”

“Great, because I don’t know you what you think, but these hospital beds are awful.” She drags herself into a sitting position, with much wincing. She meets Erin’s eyes and grins. “Nice legs, Gilbert.”

Erin’s blushing, again. She’s always blushing around Holtzmann. “I, uh, wasn’t wearing pants under my jumpsuit.”

Holtzmann winks, and, oh god, is her face getting hotter?

“Anyway,” Abby says, “We smuggled Erin out of her room before the doctor came to talk to her, so we should probably get back. We’ll come back in a few hours, okay, Holtz?”

“I’ll be eagerly awaiting your arrival,” Holtz replies, settling back into her pillows.

When Erin glances back before she leaves the room, she watches Holtzmann shut her eyes, and clench her jaw, and Erin can see how much it _hurts_ , and she wants nothing more but to run back into the room, and to sit next to Holtzmann for the rest of the night.

But then Abby calls her name, and she leaves Holtzmann alone in the little room.

-

As Erin quickly finds out, a Holtzmann on paid medication is a very _touchy_ Holtzmann. They’re in the back of Ecto-1, and Holtzmann is sprawled out across the backseat, her head on Erin’s shoulder, her elbow propped on Erin’s thigh. Patty’s driving, and Abby’s in the passenger seat, fretting about the fact that Holtzmann isn’t wearing a seatbelt, but they’re almost to the fire station and Holtzmann’s weight is warm and heavy, and Erin kind of doesn’t want her to get up.

“Hey, Erin?”

‘Yeah?”

“Have I ever told you I like your face?” Holtzmann’s grin is loopy and her gaze is slightly unfocused. She insisted on wearing her yellow sunglasses before leaving the hospital, and now they’re perched at the end of her nose.

“I…I don’t think you have, no.”

“Well, I like your face.” Holtzmann says, and presses her own face into Erin’s shoulder. The edge of the glasses dig into Erin’s arm. “’is a very nice face.”

“Uh, thank you?”

Apparently satisfied with her compliment, Holtzmann drifts into a doze, and sleeps the rest of the way to the fire station.

But upon reaching it, Abby realizes a flaw in their plan. “How are we going to get her upstairs?”

Erin frowns. About three months ago, Holtzmann had vacated her apartment completely, instead choosing to move into what Erin thinks used to be a storage closest on the third floor of the fire station. She said it was so there was always someone in the station if the phone rings late at night, but Erin knows it’s so she can be close to her machines. Holtzmann is their mad scientist, through and through, and if she wants to make something at 2AM in her lab, she is going to make something at 2AM in her lab.

But there are three flights of stairs between them and Holtzmann’s tiny room, and they shouldn’t even be leaving her alone, anyways.

“You could attach me to my pulleys and haul me up like I’m one of the containment units,” Holtzmann says, sleepily, and Erin jumps, unaware that she was awake. “Wrap the harness around my legs and…” she mimics the motion of operating the pulley.

“No. No! We’re not doing that!” Abby protests. She turns to Patty. “Do y’think you could…?”

“Hell, no! I’m not carrying Holtzmann up three flights of stairs. Sorry, Holtzy, but we don’t need me breaking my back because your injured ass decided to live on the top floor.”

“She can stay with me,” Abby says hesitantly, but Erin knows she’s picturing her tiny, cluttered apartment.

“This is ridiculous!” Erin says, and both Patty and Abby twist to look at her. “Holtz can stay with me. I’m the one with the biggest apartment, and besides, I live closest to the station, so if she does want to come to work or something it’s less of walk. Not that she should be walking. Or that she would be walking, because I would call a taxi, not just leave her to fend for herself.” Erin can feel herself start to ramble, so she cuts herself off and finishes with, “It makes the most sense.”

They all look to the engineer, who mutters a tired agreement, and collapses back onto Erin.

She sleeps the four blocks to Erin’s apartment.

-

Erin’s apartment looks exactly like Holtzmann expected it to. It’s clean and white and organized, and the only decorations are full bookshelves (organized by subject and author), and the occasion photo or vase of flowers. Erin maneuvers her down onto the couch, and when she stands up, Holtzmann notices that strands of hair have escaped from her ponytail. She pushes them back, impatiently, and says, “I just need to change the sheets on my bed, then I’ll come and, uh…”

“Why, Erin, are you inviting me into your bed?” Holtzmann says, because Erin was asking for it, and relishes the shade of scarlet the physicist’s cheeks turn. She leans back into the pillows of Erin’s (beige, of course) couch, and watches her stammer, before scurrying off to presumably find the clean sheets.

It only takes about ten minutes before she’s back, and Holtzmann leans heavily against Erin. All her muscles feel useless, and there’s pain. Every time she moves there’s a stretching, burning _pain_ that swirls out from her midsection and takes her breath away. But then, she’s on a bed, and actual bed, not her creaky cot in the fire house or the hospital bed with the too-stiff sheets that smelled faintly of bleach.

She collapses, and the pins still in her hair push into her scalp. Erin’s sorting through her drawers, presumably looking for something to wear other than the scrub pants and t-shirt she managed to get from the nurses at the hospital, but she stops when Holtzmann says her name.

“Yeah?”

“Can you…can you take the pins out, for me? I…I can’t.” She hates saying it, hates the way it makes her sound weak, because she _is not weak,_ but she can’t raise her arms higher than her chest without pulling at her wound.

“Oh. Yeah. Um…” the bed creaks as Erin sits down, and Holtz closes her eyes, feeling Erin’s fingers carefully pull out the bobby pins, her scalp aching in the good kind of hurt that always comes when taking them out.

After a while, the gentle tugging in her hair stops, and Erin pours the pins from her hand onto the bedside table.

“If you want to change, there’s a t-shirt next to you on the bed. It’s my biggest one, so it shouldn’t squeeze your…your…stitches. I’m going to take a shower, then I’ll be on the couch if you need…anything.”

Holtzmann opens her eyes. “I don’t want to kick you out of your bed.”

“No, it’s fine-“

“No, it’s not.” Holtzmann cuts Erin off. “It’s a big bed.” She grins, raising an eyebrow seductively. “Join me.”

Erin’s still hesitating, so Holtzmann says “I promise, Er, I’ll stay on my side.”

The fight rushes out of Erin, and she seems to sag in exhaustion. “Okay.” She rubs her face. “Okay.” She raises her head. “I’ll…I’ll go take a shower.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Erin lets out a breath, and pads from the room. Holtzmann hears the shower switch on, and she waits for the sound of the curtain being pulled back before she wiggles out of her hospital pants and her crop top, moving slowly to cause herself as little pain as possible. She tries not to notice how the edges of her top are stained red, tries not to remember the feeling of losing blood, the feeling of life starting the blur and flicker, the feeling of _terror,_ deep and instinctual. She was so sure she was going to die, and she never, ever wants to feel like that again.

It’s too much work to slide into Erin’s old Colombia University shirt, so instead she just gets under the covers of Erin. The sheets smell like Erin’s laundry detergent, and she burrows under them, the weight of the comforter heavy on top of her, and everything is warm and despite sleeping most of the day, she is so tired.

It could be minutes or hours later before she hears Erin come into the room. There’s the gentle creak of the bedsprings, and the weight of another person at the opposite side of the bed, the rustling of fabric, and a soft exhale. Holtzmann can tell that Erin has gingerly settled herself at the very end of the bed, and she wants to turn over and say _something,_ to reach over and drag her closer, but she’s so, so tired.

She sleeps.

-

They shifted together in the middle of the night. When Holtzmann wakes, she and Erin are pressed together in the middle of the bed. They’re not cuddling, exactly, but their shoulders, their hips are pressed together, and Holtz’s left leg is draped over Erin’s right one, and Erin’s arm has threaded through Holtz’s and her fingers are on the bare skin of Holtz’s stomach.

Everywhere Erin’s skin touches Holtz’s, she can feel the warmth, feel the glittering traces of fireflies, feel the _longing._ And she wants to pull Erin closer and snuggle into her side, but they’re just friends, just _friends,_ no matter how much Holtzmann hopes and wishes and _longs_ that they were more.

-

She flirts with Erin the first time she meets her. She does it because she flirts with everybody, anything that moves.

But she keeps flirting, because Erin is fun to flirt with, and it’s fun to watch her go red and blush and stammer.

And she’s not quite sure when she looks up and notices that Erin’s actually cute in an awkward, nerdy professor kind of way. She doesn’t remember when Erin’s smile starts making her feel warm, when Erin’s touch starts making butterflies start up in her stomach.

But it does, it does, it does.

-

It’s after Erin punched that blogger, after the story comes out in the newspaper, and she crawled into the booth next to Erin, and tried to cheer her up with the story about the basset hound that goes to see movies (“look at those ears!”), but Erin was upset and angry, and she didn’t even smile.

Holtzmann just really, really wanted to see her smile.

-

“These are your colleagues?”

“Yes, yes. And we’re dating.”

“Uh, No! I’m, uh, dating the receptionist.”

“Whoops. Okaaay. Back to the drawing board on THAT one.”

-

Erin got a boyfriend about three weeks after they saved the world. His name was Robert, and he’s a professor of botany, and he’s tall and has brown hair and glasses and a sort of gawky look about him. He had a kind of old-fashioned way of talking and you could feel the assumed superiority, the arrogance, oozing off him like ectoplasm, and he turned downright cold to her when she wondered in front of him if he started studying botany because he resembles a twig himself.

She started avoiding him whenever he came around. Abby came and found her, once, after he walked in the door to pick up Erin to go get lunch, and she made some excuse about needing to fix a proton pack and escaped up to her lab.

“Erin’s got a habit of dating douchebags, but she always comes around,” Abby said, attempting to cheer Holtzmann up. “She’ll come around. Robert will be gone within a couple of weeks and you won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

“But will she?” Holtzmann set down her screwdriver and looked at Abby full on. “Will she?”

Realization flashed across Abby’s face, then pity, and Holtzmann really, really did not want pity so she turned back to her new product.

“Maybe, Holtz.” Abby’s words were soft. “Maybe she will.”

“Maybe,” Holtz echoed, but there’s no hope behind the word.

-

Robert doesn’t last long, just as Abby promised. But after Robert there’s another, then another, then another and they all act like Robert, like Phil, to the point where Patty started muttering about how Erin’s type is assholey middle-aged white professors.

Holtzmann had known Erin for six months by this point, and she worked with her every day, sat across from her every day, ate lunch with her every day, and it caused that _ache_ in her chest, the ache of _wanting._ And it intensified every time Erin smiled at her or laughed at a joke or blushed when Holtzmann flirted, and Holtzmann knew that this wasn’t good for her, that it only made the ache intensify, but she kept on doing it, kept on flirting and joking and aching.

Because it was Erin, and Holtzmann had never met anyone like Erin before.

-

When she wakes again, Holtzmann’s side throbs and her mouth is dry, and Erin is back on the other side of the bed and though it’s only a couple of feet of space it feels as vast as an ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order to confirm that I'm actually getting all the characterization right- speech patterns and such -I've rewatched Ghostbusters for the third time in a month. 
> 
> Anyways, I've decided I'm going to try and update this every other day, for multiple reasons. One, it gives me a strong deadline and I'm only really productive with deadlines, and two, I want to get it finished before spring break is over and I have to dive back into the extremely time consuming world of college.

When Erin wakes, Holtzmann is still fast asleep. She on her back, breathing gently, hair in a blonde halo on her pillow. She has also pushed her blankets away, and Erin notices with a surge of heat to her face that Holtz is wearing nothing but a sports bra and underwear, having chosen to forgo the shirt Erin set out for her.

It’s not as if Erin has never seen Holtzmann like this before; they share a loccer room, after all, and after a bust, if she’s hot, Holtzmann tends to only half remove her jumpsuit and walk around with it around her hips, in only her sports bra. Plus, when she injures herself in her lab, she always comes to Erin, pouting and wide-eyed, and she’s injured herself in some very odd places (Erin never wants to know how she got a burn in a perfect circle just below her breasts). But seeing her in this state of undress while she’s fast asleep, well…it feels oddly _intimate,_ almost violating to see her like this, and Erin averts her eyes, even while she feels the warmth in her chest.

And her eyes can’t help but be drawn to the stitches just to the side of Holtz’s right hipbone, ugly and startling, marring the otherwise smooth skin. The sight causes a flood of emotions in Erin’s gut and a lump to form in her throat.

And so, desperate for something to do, Erin leaves a note for Holtzmann and slips out the door.

-

The fire station is quiet. It shouldn’t be surprising, given the events of the last few days, but it is. Erin has been so used to walking in and seeing Kevin behind his desk or Abby or Patty behind theirs. And there’s no sound from the second floor, no clattering of tools or rumbling of new machines or poofs (small or medium sized). It’s so unfamiliar, this silence, that when she steps onto the second floor she almost expects Holtzmann to pop up from behind a machine or her desk. But she doesn’t, and Erin continues onto the third floor.

They turned the third floor into a combination kitchen/living room/library. There’s a fridge and a few feet of counter space, and a microwave. There are cabinets filled with coffee mugs and an ancient table that Holtzmann and Abby somehow managed to haul up here. There’s a worn leather couch and a TV and the floor is covered with worn rugs in formally-bright colors. Everything up here makes it feel warm and homey and comfortable, which they all need, sometimes. And there are bookcases, four of them, taller than Erin and filled with books. Patty’s nonfiction and Abby’s mysteries and Erin’s biographies and Holtzmann’s novels, so utterly unorganized and completely glorious in that fact.

And then, there’s Holtzmann’s room. It’s separated from the rest of the space by a curtain, which Erin pushes aside.

Erin doesn’t quite know what she was expecting. Chaos, most likely, or something “organized” in a way only Holtzmann can understand it, like her lab on the floor below. But everything is spotless, neat and tidy, and consists of only three things. A cot, covered in sheets printed with robots and a worn quilt, a metal cabinet against the base of the bed, and a bookshelf. And it’s the bookshelf Erin finds herself being drawn towards.

It is tall and skinny, six shelves, and the top three are full of books. Erin recognizes some authors; Douglas Adams and H. G. Wells and Tamora Pierce and Margaret Atwood and George Orwell, and she recognizes some titles; Dune and Jurassic Park and Ready Player One and The Girl with All the Gifts and American Gods. But there are more, more she doesn’t recognize. She trails her fingers across the Dragonriders of Pern trilogy, across Red Rising, The Night Circus, Nevernight. She gazes at Holtzmann’s private collection of sci-fi and fantasy, and wonders how she never _knew._

And below the books, are the TV shows. Erin knows some of them- Doctor Who and Firefly and all the generations of Star Trek, and there are some she doesn’t recognize, like Red Dwarf and Orphan Black. But she also finds all the seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, all the seasons of New Girl, all the seasons of The X-Files, of The Office.

She vows, then and there, to get Holtzmann a Netflix account.

-

Eventually, Erin remembers why she’s there- to get Holtzmann clothes. She fills a bag with the contents of one of the drawers of the metal cabinet, and takes one last look at the bookshelf. Somehow, she feels like she knows Holtzmann better now, and she knows it’s silly, but there’s something about seeing what someone watches, what someone reads, that makes her feel as if she knows them, even if she’s only talked to them once.

And she knows Holtzmann, so it’s as if she’s reached another layer of connection with her, and it makes her heart and blood and gut flood with warmth.

Erin is halfway down the stairs to the second floor when she hears voices.

It’s Abby, and someone else’s that she can’t place. Kevin sounds confused, like always, and Abby sounds…angry. Erin speeds up, and when she turns the corner and goes down the stairs to the first floor, she places the voice.

Jennifer Lynch.

And Erin also hears what Abby’s saying.

“We are not giving an interview!” Abby’s saying, furiously. “You are not turning this into some sort of _publicity stunt.”_

“I’m just saying, it would be good press,” Jennifer says in return, annoyingly, condescendingly patient as always. “Say a couple of words about Holtzmann, maybe shed a tear or two, and the public would eat it up. And after that disaster that was Morris-Jumel Mansion-“

“We told you, we didn’t know there was a school tour happening!”

“-you really need some good press.”

“Holtzmann is not good press,” Erin spits, and both Abby and Jennifer jump, whipping around to face her. Not noticing their surprise, she keeps going. “She’s hurt, she’s in pain, and we are _not_ using her as a publicity device. She deserves better than that!”

Jennifer steps forward, reaching out to lay a hand on Erin’s arm. Erin steps back, looking at it in disgust, and Jennifer drops it, but continues talking in her faux-cheery tone. “All I was saying is that it would good! We’d ask Holtzmann too, of course, but the mayor and I would just like you to consider-“

“Lady, it’s time for you to go.”

It’s time for Erin to jump, because in her anger, she hadn’t noticed Patty appear. Patty makes a gesture at the door, and Jennifer huffs. She tugs at her jacket, and gives Abby a pointed look. “Just-“

“GO.”

As soon as she’s out the door, Erin sags, and sits down onto the tile floor.

“Damn woman,” Patty grumbles, and with a violence neither Erin nor Patty was expecting, Abby whirls and kicks the wall. “Stupid _motherfuc-“_ Her word turns into a yelp of pain, and she collapses next to Erin. She then bursts into tears.

“Oh, Abby, baby.” Patty sits down, too, and pulls Abby into a hug. Abby laugh-cries, pushing up her glasses to wipe her eyes.

“I know it’s stupid, and Holtz is going to be alright, but I was just so scared,” Abby says, glancing from Patty to Erin. “I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes I just keep seeing you, sitting over her, her blood on your hands and the glass-“ she chokes on another sob, and Erin just nods.

She understands. She understands completely.

-

Holtzmann wakes with a groan. She turns to look at the clock, and as she does, she registers three things. One, that the clock says 9:05, two, that she feels absolutely disgusting, and three, that Erin’s side of the bed is neatly made and empty.

The sheets are cold, so Erin’s clearly been gone a while. Dragging herself into a semi-upright position, Holtzmann scrubs at her eyes. When she glances over at the night table again, she notices a note, a plate with a pile of crackers and a piece of string cheese, a glass of water, and her medication lined up in a neat row.

The note is simple, under a paragraph.

_-Holtzmann,_

_I’ve gone to get you some clothes. The doctor said you can’t take your medication on an empty stomach, so I’ve left some food out._

_I’ll be back soon,_

_-Erin._

It sends a warm, tingly feeling through Holtzmann, that Erin did this, and she smiles.

-

Meds taken, crackers and room-temperature string cheese eaten, and Holtzmann really, really needs to shower. She feels the itchy sensation of dried sweat, and the feelings of the hospital cling to her skin, and she feels almost as if she wants to peel her skin off, take off the layers of grime and hospital.

The doctor said she wouldn’t be able to get her wound wet for 48 hours, and she figures it’s been about that long, so she slides out of Erin’s bed, moving as carefully as she can. Using the bed, the dresser, the wall to brace herself, she makes a slow, slow journey from Erin’s room, down the short hallway to the bathroom. She rummages through the cupboards until she finds a clean towel, and strips from her underwear. Taking off her bra proves to be too painful of a task before her meds kick in, so she gets into the shower with it still on.

She doesn’t even bother attempting to stand. She sits on the floor of the shower and leans her head against the wall, closing her eyes, and letting the water rain down onto her.

She shampoos her hair using only one hand, and only gets out of the shower when the water runs cold. The bathroom is steamy and humid, and Holtzmann wraps herself in a towel and sits against the wall, not ready to attempt to get dressed.

She hears the muffled sound of the door opening and closing, and Erin walking down the hall.

“Holtz?”

“In here!” She grins when Erin opens the door, then gasps and goes to shut it. Then she slowly opens it again.

“Are you okay?” Her eyebrows are creased in worry, and Holtzmann finds it cute.

“I’m fine.”  There’s a long silence, before Erin whispers, sounding slightly shocked.

“Your hair.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It’s…long.”

“It’s awful.” Holtzmann reaches up with the hand that doesn’t cause her stitches to pull and runs it through her wet, blonde hair. She’s always hated her hair, because it’s always been the thing about her that people always commented on. How pretty it was. How perfect it was. How girly it was, and _how much boys would like it_. Her mother used to insist that Holtzmann wore it in braids or pigtails or tie it up with bows, no matter how much Holtzmann hated it.

“It’s not awful,” Erin says, and Holtzmann tenses, waiting for the inevitable.

“I just didn’t think it was long.”

That wasn’t what Holtzmann was expecting, and her surprise must show on her face, because Erin looks kind of embarrassed. She coughs, once, and says,

“I brought you some clothes, and I bought you a toothbrush. Patty and Abby are coming over later, and we can get something for lunch, so…”

“Just yell your name if I need help?”

“Yeah.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, before Erin starts turning red again, and hurriedly shuts the door.

-

Erin leans against the kitchen counter and closes her eyes. She’s an awful, awful person. Because she can’t get that image out of her head, of Holtzmann, on her bathroom floor, wrapped only in a towel. She groans and pushes her forehead into her palms and tries to forgot, to push it aside, but she _can’t_.

It wasn’t even like she wasn’t covered. The towel went down to her knees and was wrapped around her chest, so all Erin could really see was her calves, her arms, her shoulders, but why does that feel so different than seeing her in her normal clothes?

And Holtzmann’s hair. It’s long, longer than Erin ever thought it was, falling past her shoulders. She’s never seen Holtzmann with her hair in anything different than the teased, wild style she always has it in.

Why is she fixating on this? She and Holtzmann are friends. They’re _friends._ Erin has no romantic feelings for her, because they’re _friends._

Right?

-

“Hey, Holtzy! I brought you somethin’.” Patty arrives before Abby, presumably with a gift, that she plunks down on top of Erin’s table. Holtzmann raises an eyebrow. “For me?” she says, with all the innocence of a child. The innocence quickly fades, replaced by the wild gleam in the corner of her eye that Erin knows far too well.

“You were working on it before you got pierced, and I figured you’ve probably been dying to continue,” Patty says smugly, before setting the second half of her gift on the table. A toolbox.

Holtzmann laughs her mad scientist laugh, the slightly menacing one that shows less humor and more a vaguely manic excitement. “My proton grenade launcher!” She reaches eagerly for the half-finished lump of machinery.

“Patty!” Erin yelps, launching forward to slide the equipment just out of Holtz’s reach. “My apartment can’t handle any-“

“Poofs?” Holtzmann supplies, helpfully, and Erin points a finger at Holtz.

“Yes, poofs. It can’t handle any small poofs, and it definitely can’t handle any medium poofs!” She takes a breath, digging for something else to put a stop to it, and when she comes up with something she straightens triumphantly. “Pain meds!”

“What?” Patty asks, confused, and Erin grins smugly.

“She’s on pain medication, and you probably shouldn’t let anyone who might be slightly loopy handle dangerous machinery!”

“Erin. Sweet, sweet Erin, you wound me with your doubt.” Holtz rests her chin on one of her hands, smiling up at the physicist. “I may be on pain medication, yes, but I assure you, I am not loopy.”

“At the hospital-“

“I was on much stronger things. These are practically over the counter for all their strength.” She manages to hook a finger around a wire, and with a pleased grin hauls the grenade launcher closer to her. She rubs her hands together eagerly.

Erin really, really hopes that Patty didn’t bring Holtz’s blowtorches.

-

Abby arrives an hour later, arms full of bags of Chinese food. She flops unceremoniously onto one of Erin’s chairs, barely even greeting Holtzmann before launching into her story.

“An hour and a half. I wait in their restaurant, and it takes Benny _an hour and a half_ to bring my food to me. All he has to do is walk four feet out the kitchen door. And look at this!” She waves the jug of soup in Erin’s face. “It’s not even a full wonton. It’s just the wonton wrapper and a single piece of chicken the size of a quarter.”

“I don’t even know why y’all bother with that place anymore,” Patty says, reaching forward to take the container that Erin passes her. “There are other, faster places closer to the fire house.”

“Because when they make it right, they have the best soup in the entire goddamn city!” Abby says, clearly frustrated. Patty just rolls her eyes, and peels apart her wooden chopsticks.

Holtz and Erin exchange a glance. They’re heard this conversation before, many, many times. Which is how Holtzmann knows to say next.

“Abby, soup isn’t even all that good.”

Abby whips around to glare at her friend, and Erin sighs, noticing what Abby hasn’t; the gleam of mischief in Holtz’s eyes.

“SOUP ISN’T EVEN ALL THAT GOOD?”

There’s nothing she can do to stop it as this point, so Erin just settles back in her chair with a takeout container of chow mein and watches the show.

-

Holtzmann hadn’t stopped working on the grenade launcher all night, barely even glancing up from it to shovel some bites of food into her mouth. When Patty and Abby leave, it’s almost 10PM, so Erin takes a shower and changes into pajamas, and when she comes out to check on Holtz, the engineer is still buried in her product, so Erin just shrugs and goes to bed.

She’s not prepared for the dreams.

-

_Everything around her is exploding. It’s noiseless but for the ringing in her ears, even as everything around her turns gray and white and green, and she’s not affected, and all she can do is watch._

_Then, suddenly, unnaturally suddenly, everything clears, and she sees her, lying there on the floor._

_“Holtzmann!” The word echoes, bounces, as Erin scrambles forward, reaching for the engineer. The glass in her side is big, bigger than it was, and Erin knows this is a dream knows it’s not the real Holtzmann lying below her, but there’s so much blood, and it sticks to Erin’s jumpsuit as she falls to her knees._

_When she turns this Holtzmann’s head, her eyes, her large, expressive, beautiful blue eyes are blank and dull and_ Empty.

_And Erin screams._

-

She wakes up, gasping, heart pounding, reaching out for the person that she knows is alive but still fears isn’t, but her hand brushes against empty sheets. For a second, she panics again, thinking the dream was real, but then something clatters out in the kitchen, and there’s the warm glow of lighting coming under the bedroom door. And she remembers. Holtzmann is working, Holtzmann is injured, yes, but alive and working and is going to be okay.

But Erin’s drenched in sweat and she knows she won’t be able to sleep, so she slides out of bed, picking up her hoodie off the floor as she goes. She shrugs it on, and goes to find Holtzmann.

Holtzmann looks up when Erin enters the room, her goggles perched around her eyes, a question on her face.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make myself some tea,” Erin lies, and she knows by the way Holtz’s brow furrows and the way she glances over at the clock (2:37AM) that Holtz knows it’s a lie, too.

But Holtz doesn’t say anything, just shrugs, and goes back to twisting a tiny wire with a tiny pair of tweezers, and Erin flicks the switch on her electric kettle. Erin slides into a chair, and watches Holtzmann work, silently, for five, ten, fifteen minutes, waiting as her heartrate calms and returns to normal. Somewhere, in the background, her kettle reaches boil and clicks off, but it’s ignored, and Erin stands up.

She’s almost to the hallway when she turns. She hesitates, twice, before asking, softly, quietly, “Would you like to come to bed? Finish that tomorrow?”

Holtzmann looks up, pushes her goggles off her face. They’ve left round imprints around her eyes, and for some reason that makes something in Erin’s chest _ache,_ and she worries, anxiety sparking up, that Holtz will say no, will turn away, but instead, the woman nods and answers, equally softly.

“Okay.”

Erin nods, once, quickly, and returns to bed, a strength warm invading her bloodstream. About ten minutes later, she feels Holtzmann slip in next to her, and she sleeps.

-

This time, when Erin wakes up and they’re pressed together in a tangle of limbs, she doesn’t wiggle away, but clutches Holtzmann _tighter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, I wrote 3k words yesterday, and that's probably some of the most I've written outside of NaNoWriMo. Can you tell I'm loving writing this 'fic?
> 
> Thank you for your comments and kudos! It makes me happy knowing other people like what I write. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early because it's finished and so why wait?

 

Nothing is spoken about the night before in the morning. Holtzmann, despite sleeping only a few hours, is up and out of bed before Erin is even awake when her alarm goes off at 7. She pads blearily into the kitchen, to find Holtz eating the bag of chips she’s had in her cupboard for…months, at least, and putting the final touches on the grenade launcher.

“Aren’t those stale?” Erin asks, not even bothering to ask why Holtz is eating chips for breakfast.

“Possibly. I was in the zone. Didn’t really notice.” Holtz grins at Erin, tilting her head upwards. She slams her pliers down onto the kitchen table. “Erin, meet my son!”

“Your…son?”

Holtz caresses the long, metal machine, her grin growing wider. “My son. He shall destroy many ghosts. Erin, greet my son.”

“I’m…I’m not greeting a grenade launcher.”

“Erin, you wound him.” Holtz curls the palms of her hands over the sides of the tube- launcher? -as if she’s covering its ears.

Erin just laughs, a little bit, and goes about the rest of her morning business.

About 45 minutes later, she comes out to find Holtzmann leaning against the door, apparently waiting to go.

“Before you say anything, no, I’m not going to go to my lab. But Erin, your apartment is so boring,” she says. “Everything is so white and beige and it makes my eyes hurt with the blandness.”

Holtz gestures around, which makes her wince, which makes Erin frown, which Holtz notices.

“Er, Er-Bear, I promise I won’t do anything stupid. I’ll just…fix the proton packs. Downstairs. Veeeery minimal stuff. Low levels of radiation.”

“Radiation? They give off radiation? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Everything in the building is dangerous,” Holtz says with another grin that makes something inside Erin go soft and warm.

How can she say no?

-

Holtzmann claims Erin’s desk because it’s closest to what was her original lab. At first, it was going to be on the first floor so she didn’t have to haul everything upstairs, but then she told Patty exactly how much radiation came off the containment unit and Patty freaked out. Apparently she didn’t want to work next to extremely dangerous levels of radiation. Or next to equipment that might turn your atoms to liquid if you accidently bumped them.

She decided not to tell Patty about air conditioner she… _upgraded_. It kept the temperature of the fire station nicely regulated and, in a pinch, could destroy any ghosts in an entire city block and take out any electronics that happened to be on at the time.

Holtz goes to swing her legs onto the desk, but she forgot about the whole _burning pain_ thing. So she rests them carefully back on the floor, and tries not to notice Erin staring worriedly at her. But she’s able to bury herself in her work, think of nothing but mechanics and circuits and fixing things. Which is good, because since she woke up this morning she remembers the feeling of Erin next to her, of Erin’s arm across her stomach and Erin’s thigh against her hip and the smell of Erin, of coconut and vanilla and minty shampoo.

And it shouldn’t linger in Holtz’s head like this, because Erin is straight and Holtz doesn’t have a habit of falling for straight girls, because she knows it just leads to heartbreak at least, broken friendships at best and she doesn’t want to give up her friendship with Erin because her stupid, traitor heart flutters every single time she makes sees her.

God, it makes Holtz feel a teenager again. An awkward, friendless teenager who flirts with everyone and crushes hard, and never, ever has those crushes requited.

She has to push the proton pack aside. She rests her face in her hands and breathes, because her mind is caught on Erin, on Erin’s smile, on Erin’s smell, on Erin’s skin, and every thought is snowballing and there’s a heat building low in her pelvis and _this isn’t good._

“Hey, Holtzy, you alright?” Patty asks from the next desk over. “You look kind of flushed. Is your side hurting?”

“No, I just…I’ll be right back.” Holtz pushes herself up from her desk and into the bathroom, because she’s overheating and her thoughts are still circling to places that they shouldn’t go going while she’s at work. She runs the tap until the water is icy cold and splashes her face, before gripping the edges of the sink and staring at herself in the mirror, waiting for her pulse to return to normal, for her face to lose the its flush.

She doesn’t come out for a while.

-

“Erin, you’re going to say no, right?” Abby demands, reaching for Erin’s phone.

“Yes! No. I don’t know!”

Erin stands on her tiptoes, holding her phone away from Abby, where Phil’s text shines on the screen.

[{DON’T ANSWER HIS TEXTS, ERIN @ 11:21PM} Hey, Erin. It’s Phil. Do you want to get together and talk? I feel like our relationship ended badly and I would kind of like to see you again.]

She doesn’t know why she feels so conflicted about this. Her and Phil’s relationship did end badly. Twice. Once, when he ignored her after she got fired, and again, after he pretended he didn’t know her in front of a famous physicist, before the word that the Ghostbusters are actually real got around. She should never want to see him again.

But…she hesitates, her text of “no, I don’t think that’s a good idea” not sent yet.

“Erin, I know that look. He’s an asshole, remember?” Abby says, reaching again for Erin’s phone, to send the text that Erin can’t seem to send herself, but again, Erin evades her grasping hands.

“He just wants to talk!” Erin says desperately, and she knows that’s not true, that if she goes he’s going to apologize and promise he’ll never do anything like that again. That she’ll believe him, and he’ll ask her on a date to make up for things and she’ll agree, and then, eventually, inevitably, he’ll get embarrassed by her and he’ll pretend he doesn’t know her and the whole cycle will start again.

But. Erin can’t close her eyes without picturing Holtzmann, and she knows it’s never going to happen, because Holtzmann flirts with her because she thinks it’s fun to flirt with Erin. That there’s no chance of a relationship happening. And that makes Erin _hurt,_ and Phil…Phil’s predictable. An unpleasant sort of predictable, but predictable, and she knows, that if she doesn’t embarrass him, that the relationship might have a chance of going somewhere other than semi-casual dating. Her relationship with Holtz won’t go past friendship no matter how much she wishes or hopes otherwise.

“Erin, it’s my duty as your best friend to make sure you don’t date douchebags,” Abby says. “Now give me your phone, and I’ll send the text for you!”

Abby launches for the phone, and there’s a brief moment of scuffling before Erin backs up and yelps “It’s sent! I already sent it!” and drops her phone on the table. Abby scoops it up.

“That would be nice. How’s 12:30 at the café down the street from Colombia?” Abby reads, then lowers the phone, disappointed. “Erin, you know he’s not good enough for you.”

“But he’s predictable,” Erin says, helplessly, and realizes how bad that sounds when she says it aloud. Abby’s face kind of falls, but she just nods.

Erin slides onto one of the chairs at the table and stares at the phone, at her reply.

Abby’s almost out to the stairs when she stops, and turns. “Erin, you deserve better than Phil. You know that, right?”

Erin doesn’t answer.

-

The lunch is short and awkward, and yes, predictable. Phil talks about his work and his students and his life, not stopping to ask her about her work, her friends, her life. And the predictability reaches the peak predictability-ness, when Phil leans forward, places a hand on Erin’s (stopping her from taking a bite of her palmier), and says,

“Look. I’ve been invited to a benefit dinner. And as a sort of apology for how badly I treated you, I’d like you to come with me.”

She hesitates, and he hurries on, explaining that it’s been catered by one of the top chefs in New York, that it’s going to have lots of brilliant scientists there, and that he knows Erin will love it.

And, before she can stop herself, Erin nods. Yes.

Maybe she’s predictable, too.

-

Holtzmann has been staying with Erin for a week when she slides into the bed next to Erin. Erin’s reading (a nonfiction that Patty recommended), and when while she expects Holtz to switch off the lamp on her side of the bed, turn over, and fall asleep, she doesn’t.

They lie there in silence for a while, before Holtzmann finally says something.

“I have an appointment with my doctor on Monday. See if I get the all-clear to climb the stairs.”

“Oh? That’s good,” Erin answers, even though the thought causes a hardness in her gut, the thought of this not happening anymore. Of Holtzmann moving back into her tiny room at the fire station, of them no longer sleeping in the same bed.

She mentally kicks herself, hard, because that would be a good thing, that would mean that Holtzmann is healing and getting better, and it means that their team would be one step closer to being complete again. They’ve gone on two busts since Holtz got injured, and they all noticed the emptiness without her.

“Yeah,” Holtz says. “Yeah, it will be. Back with my babies.”

And away from Erin. Working together, yes, seeing each other every day, yes, but still, _away_. And that tiny, tiny distance feels so, so far. And Erin tells herself it’s stupid, because she’s got a date with Phil, she’s got a date with Phil tomorrow, and she needs to stop longing after Holtzmann, because it’s _not going to happen._

Holtz, with nothing else to say, reaches over and turns off the lamp. Erin does the same, and wiggles further under the covers, and though she tries everything she can do to sleep, she doesn’t sleep.

She doesn’t think Holtz, does, either.

-

“Hey, Erin! Get out here! The Avengers is on TV!” Holtz calls, from where she’s sprawled across Erin’s couch. They had already eaten an early dinner of pizza and breadsticks, and Erin was in the bathroom, showering and (presumably) changing into her pajamas, even if it was taking her kind of a long time. While digging through Erin’s cupboards, Holtz had found a rather large selection of junk food, hidden behind boring stuff like cereal. She had stolen a packet of Skittles from the stash, and she pours them directly from the bag into her mouth, now, tilting her head back.

“Oh, um…” Holtz hears Erin say, and when she looks up, she nearly inhales a Skittle.

Erin is…dressed up. Her hair has been curled, she’s wearing lipstick, and…that dress. It’s black, and hugs her torso before flaring out at her hips, stopping just above her knees. It has a plunging back and a kind of low neckline and Holtz is vaguely aware that she’s staring but she can’t stop.

“I can’t.”

“What?” Holtz drags her gaze up from _skin_ and focuses on Erin’s face.

“I can’t. Watch The Avengers with you. I mean, I want too, but I have a date.” She takes a breath. “With Phil.”

“Oh.” Holtzmann feels as if her heart’s trying to sink its way into her stomach. But she puts on a grin and flashes her dimples and drags her gaze up and down Erin’s body. “Have fun.” The suggestiveness of her comment _hurts_ , but it’s what she’s expected to do so she’s going to do it.

“Stop that!” Erin says, half-laughing, cheeks turning pink. “I probably won’t be back until late. I’ll try not to wake you up when I get back.”

“Okay.”

Somehow, Holtz manages to get the word out of the rapidly developing lump in her throat, and Erin nods once, quickly, and is out and the door clicks shut behind her and the sound causes an actual, physical pain in Holtz’s chest.

-

Erin had forgotten how awkward these parties are, and how much she dislikes them. Phil excels at them, naturally. He converses easily with professors and scientists and authors and people of importance, and it makes it seem so simple. But whenever Erin tries to enter a conversation, she typically leaves with either her foot in her mouth or after babbling something embarrassing that she knows she’ll spend the rest of the night kicking herself over.

So, mostly, she sips wine and nibbles little hors d’oeuvres that often include things like salmon or veal or arugula, and listens. Phil introduces her to people, but other than that, they don’t really talk. And Erin can feel them slipping into old patterns, because they’ve been to so many of these, and she knows the drill. Phil talks and impresses and laughs, and Erin smiles in the right places, laughs in other ones, and entwines her arm with Phil’s. And she doesn’t say anything.

At least, until they meet a group that wants to talk with her.

And they want to talk about the Ghostbusters. And they’re scientists, respected, known scientists, who want to know her approach to physics and how it applies to her work, about their technology, about them. They ask about her, they ask about Abby and Patty and Holtzmann, and it causes a pang every time Erin says her name.

She wishes it was Holtzmann standing next to her, not Phil. Holtzmann who likely would be joking and flirting and laughing, not standing stiffly next to her. Holtzmann, who’s at home on Erin’s couch watching The Avengers, and suddenly that sounds so, so nice.

She wants to be home, with Holtzmann. Holtzmann, her coworker. Holtzmann, one of her best friends. Holtzmann, she thinks she might just be in love with.

But she doesn’t have an easy escape. At least, she doesn’t, until someone remarks on how hard the Ghostbuster’s journey must have been, with everyone thinking them simply attention-seekers, and Phil threads his arm around Erin’s waist, and says “Not everyone. I’ve been with her and supported her every step of the way.”

And everything clicks into place. The Ghostbusters are liked, admired, _respected_ in the scientific community now. They proved things, have done things, other scientists could only dream of doing _._ For the first time in their relationship(s), people want to talk to _Erin,_ not Phil. And Phil knows this. So he brings her along, so people will talk to her, and then to him, and it will further him in his career, because he will be the boyfriend of a Ghostbuster.

So, she does something she should have done long, long ago. She shoves his arm off her. She looks him straight in the eye, and she tells him,

“You turned your back on me. You ignored me. You have never truly supported me. We’re done, Phil. I don’t want to hear from you again.”

And, ignoring his calls, ignoring the stares, she leaves. She calls a cab, and she leaves.

-

Holtzmann looks up when she walks in the door. She’s watching Alien, now, and Erin can hear the screams as an alien bursts out of a man’s chest. Holtz smiles, head tilting.

“Date go well?”

“No.” Erin kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the couch. She feels exhausted, and she has no idea why. She feels the gentle, warm buzz of wine, not enough to make her drunk, exactly, but enough where everything is just starting to go soft around the edges and she’s not quite embarrassed when she scoots closer to Holtz. Their legs are touching, and so are their arms, and Erin tries to focus on the TV but she can’t.

“Those parties are awful,” Erin can hear herself saying, just to fill the silence, to try and ignore her heart which seems to be beating faster in relation to the closeness of Holtzmann.

Holtz’s smile turns into a seductive grin. “Well, I can turn the night around for ya.”

And suddenly, their faces are inches apart, and Erin’s heart is _beating,_ and she can feel Holtz’s breath on her cheek and they are so, so close.

Ages of desire, of longing, of _wanting_ comes crashing over Erin, and she doesn’t know how it happens but they’re kissing.

Holtz’s hand is on her thigh and Erin’s hand is on Holtz’s hip and her hair is in her face but they’re kissing and the contact _burns._

And, as suddenly as it begins, it stops, because Holtz is pulling back, wide-eyed, and she stammers “I’ve gotta go do…something,” and she all but flees.

So Erin’s left, sitting in the dark but for a flashing TV screen, and she touches her lips, and she can still feel the wanting, the heat, the _burning,_ and she wants to chase after Holtz, wants to keep kissing her.

But she might have just ruined everything.


	4. Chapter 4

The weekend is awkward, to say the least. On Saturday, it’s okay. They work on Saturdays, and since Holtz can’t get up to the second floor, Erin vanishes upstairs to her wall of whiteboards and Holtz is left down below, fixing the proton packs. And it seems like they’re being casual, but the few times Holtz and Erin have to talk it must seem strained, because during lunch Patty stops by Erin’s desk to talk to Holtz.

“Are y’all fighting or something? Because I’m sensing a weird vibe between you two,” Patty says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the stairs, indicating Erin. Holtz pushes her goggles off her nose.

“No, we’re not fighting,” she says, truthfully, because they’re not, they’re just…not talking, currently.

Patty’s eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure? Because living in the same house can cause tension.” Then her eyebrows fly up. “Did you guys sleep together?”

“No!” Holtzmann says, probably a bit too fast, because Patty smirks, and Holtzmann scrambles to cover her tracks, because a rumor starting that she and Erin slept together…oh, god, that would make this even worse than it already was.

“Yes, we’re fighting,” Holtz lies. “I…uh…” Holtz casts her brain around for an excuse. “Got a chinchilla!”

“A chinchilla?” Patty asks, skeptically, and Holtzmann internally groans (got a _chinchilla_? Really, Holtzmann?) but it’s too late to back out now.

“Yeah. We made a detour by the pet store, and Erin left me alone.” Holtz leans forward, casting her gaze around conspiratorially. “I should not be left alone in pet stores.” She shrugs. “By the time Erin caught up to me it was too late, and now I have a pet and Erin has an unwanted animal in her apartment.”

Patty looks at her for a long, long moment before shrugging. “Girl, that’s just weird enough to make perfect sense.”

When Patty finally leaves, Holtzmann lets out a breath of relief. Crisis averted.

-

As bad as Saturday was, Sunday was worse. They’re both stuck in the same apartment, because Erin has a routine on Sundays, and doesn’t want to break that routine, and Holtz can’t exactly go anywhere.

So she spends most of the day avoiding Erin by sitting out on Erin’s fire escape. She tells Erin it’s because she’s updating Erin’s AC, which is kind of true but also kind of not. Because really, she can’t be around Erin without the all too familiar _ache._

Because Erin kissed her. Erin came home from a date with Phil, and kissed her. And Holtzmann kissed her back. And it should have been the signal that Holtz has spent months waiting for, to go forward, but she could taste wine on Erin’s lips and could see the briefest edges of tipsiness in Erin’s eyes. And she can’t do it.

She can’t be the gay friend that other friends kiss when they’re drunk. She _can't_. It hurts too much, because it’s Erin and there are feelings there, and it hurts.

And she wishes that she could turn off her brain, but she can’t. Because she can’t help but remember what Erin tastes like, the feeling of her hand on Holtzmann’s hip, fingers digging in and pulling her _closer._ And every time she thinks of it she feels the bright flare of desire low in her belly, and that in turn causes the ache to get stronger, and stronger.

She decides, then and there, that no matter what the doctor says tomorrow, she’s moving back into the fire station. Because this hurts too much.

-

The cab ride to the hospital is awful. The awkwardness feels as if it’s a physical thing pulsing between them, and it makes Erin anxious, causes her stomach to churn. But the awkwardness can’t be broken because she kissed Holtzmann, and Holtzmann pushed her away.

Holtzmann didn’t want to kiss Erin. Holtzmann pushed Erin away. And every time she thinks of it, something inside her chest cracks and _splinters_ a little bit more.

-

She remembers exactly when something changed. When she looked up, and noticed Holtzmann was _more._

It was late, and they were moving from the loft above Zhu’s to the fire station. Kevin had long since gone to bed, Patty was asleep in the booth, and Abby could be heard clattering around in the piles of boxes they hadn’t ever unpacked when they moved into the loft. And the radio was on, playing something of Holtzmann’s, and Erin didn’t recognize it, but she was moving her head to the music as she carefully wrapped coffee mugs in bubble wrap, putting them equally carefully in boxes.

And, suddenly, Holtz was in front of her, and Holtz was grinning, and dancing, and she reached down and pulled Erin up, and they were both dancing. And it was late at night and Erin had reached the point of exhausted where she no longer felt tired, and she danced. She moved her shoulders and twisted her hips and she was dancing and Holtzmann was dancing too, and they were laughing.

And, sometime, Erin looked up and into Holtzmann’s eyes, which were shining, and there was a smile on her face and her dimples were flashing and she looked so careless and _happy_ , and Erin felt something in her chest _seize._

-

Erin doesn’t remember when she looked at Kevin and realized she no longer felt the flush of desire. He was still handsome, yes, she could tell that, but she no longer wanted to take him to bed with her. He was a little boy in an extremely handsome body, and she didn’t know why she didn’t realize it before.

So, no, she doesn’t remember, because her thoughts were caught up on _Holtzmann, Holtzmann, Holtzmann._

-

“These are your colleagues?”

“Yes, yes. And we’re dating.” (Oh, god)

“Uh, No! I’m, uh, dating the receptionist.” (no, Erin, why did you say that?)

“Whoops. Okaaay. Back to the drawing board on THAT one.”

-

To try to take her mind off of Holtzmann, Erin threw herself back into the world of dating professors. Phil came first, after apologies and promises, and when those apologies and promises went out the window, she turned to Robert, then after that ended, to Martin, then to Dave, then to Patrick. But they all end, and no matter how hard she tried, they didn’t make her forgot.

They didn’t make the milk-and-honey warmth that Holtzmann gave her go away.

-

She was drunk, really, really drunk when she admited it to Patty. She was watching Holtzmann flirt with the waitress, and watched the waitress slip her number into Holtz’s hand, and it hurt. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it _hurt._ And she tried to drown the hurt in alcohol, but all that achieves is a throbbing headache and a cramping stomach, and Patty called her a cab to get her home.

They’ve barely both gotten in the cab when everything poured out of Erin, amidst drunken sobbing. Months of thoughts and feelings and longings, and they came flooding out no matter how hard Erin tried to stop them. And Patty stayed uncharacteristically silent, just wrapping Erin up in her arms and letting her cry.

-

The silence in the cab stretches and grows, and Erin wants nothing more but to fling herself out of the cab and take off running, but she promised she’d go with Holtz to her appointment and she’s not going to back out.

Especially because this...this awkwardness is her fault.

-

Holtz gets the thumbs up from the doctor and she walks out the appointment and comes to find Erin, sitting in the lobby. They stare at each other until Holtz’s stomach gurgles, and Erin says, hesitantly, “Want go get something to eat?”

So they do. They sit in a back booth of one of the hundreds of tiny sandwich shops that fill New York, and Erin feels a burning to say something, to say anything, to explain what had happened on Friday. To explain the kiss. Because she would rather live with an aching, longing heart forever than go without the friendship.

“I’m sorry. About…the thing,” Erin says, staring at her drink. She swirls the ice with her straw, not daring to look up at Holtzmann. “I was kind of drunk and now everything’s awkward and I wish I could take it back.”

She meets Holtz’s eyes, and she’s surprised by the hurt she sees there.

“I’m not,” Holtz says, softly, so, so softly, and Erin stares at her, wide-eyed.

“I’m not sorry you kissed me.” Holtzmann is talking louder. “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you sooner.”

And she lets out a breath, like she’s been holding one for ages, and she looks scared, she looks _young,_ and the words beat out a tempo in Erin’s mind.

_I’m not sorry. Kissed you sooner._

“Oh,” Erin breathes, and it feels as if she’s just missed a step on the stairs even though she’s sitting down. Her heart is beat, beat, beating, and there are fireflies racing through her veins and butterflies in her stomach and a fire in her fingers, because she wants to reach out and pull Holtz across the table and kiss her. Kiss her again, and harder, and _mean it,_ and she’s never wanted to do anything like this to anyone else.

But this is Holtzmann. Holtzmann, her colleague, her friend, the woman she thinks she loves.

Love. It’s such a small word, four letters, simple and sweet, for such a big, dangerous, painful thing.

But Erin doesn’t kiss Holtzmann. She just reaches out and folds her fingers through Holtzmann’s, and Holtz's eyes grow wide, and they smile.

-

The silence in the cab is comfortable, this time. Because it’s a silence that whispers of unspoken, secret things, and Erin can’t stop thinking about what just happened.

“You know,” she says, “My apartment is closer than the fire station. You could stay, just for tonight. It doesn’t make any sense for you to have to deal with moving everything right now. It’s just one more night.”

“Okay,” Holtz says, and neither of them mention that fact that Holtzmann has one bag of stuff at Erin’s, that it’s only 7:30, that the fire station is only four blocks further.

Neither of them want to mention it, because they both taste the possibility of _more_ on the tips of their tongues, and they don’t want it to fade away.

-

When Holtz wakes up in the morning, she and Erin are pressed together as they always are, but this time, there’s a difference. Their fingers are interlaced, as if in the night they reached for each other and grasped on tightly.

And Holtzmann doesn’t want to let go. She doesn’t ever, ever want to let go.

-

They do a careful dance around each other. They go to work and do their job, and Holtzmann returns to her lab, and works on her machines and is reunited with her blowtorches, and Erin scribbles on the whiteboard and spreads paper across the desks. And it’s the same but it’s different.

Abby and Patty notice it. More than once, Holtzmann catches them watching with curious eyes after she and Erin talk, as if they can feel the _more_ between the two, and feel it growing.

Erin and Holtz haven’t kissed again. They’re careful not to touch each other, which is unusual, because they’re both very touchy people. Arms flung around shoulders and elbows linked and sides poked and arms squeezed. But the time they forget and Holtz touches Erin’s back when she’s helping Erin into a newly-fitted proton pack, she can feel the way Erin stiffens and inhales sharply. And suddenly Holtz’s heart is pounding, and Erin’s little gasp causes heat to pool and it shouldn’t be cause for the wanting, but it’s _Erin,_ and Erin makes Holtzmann weak in the knees and short of breath.

And, at the end of every night, they go back to Erin’s apartment and they share a bed. And they wake up every morning entwined like lovers, and it makes Holtzmann _burn._

-

When they kiss again, it’s almost as if a dam has broken. They’re both exhausted, and they’re on Erin’s couch and they’re watching a movie that’s horrifically terrible but they’re both too tired to care. And, during a commercial break, Holtz lays her head on Erin’s shoulder.

Erin stiffens, and turns, and their noses are nearly brushing and they both lean forward and they’re kissing. There are lips and tongues and _teeth_ , and Holtzmann wraps one arm around Erin’s ribs and hauls her closer, and another slides up into Erin’s hair, and Erin is clutching Holtzmann equally tightly and when they pull apart, they’re both gasping for breath, eyes large and dark, and Holtzmann can feel heat pooling between her legs.

Because she knows what it feels like to kiss Erin. She knows what Erin tastes like.

They’re still so, so close. Noses almost touching, breath on each other’s cheeks, hands on hips and thighs and hair.

And Holtzmann wonders if this is some sort of dream, because this can’t be happening, but Erin is right here, right in front of her, panting and cheeks flushed and lips parted so, so slightly.

She decides that if it’s a dream, she never wants it to end.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm uploading the last chapter at the same time as chapter four, because it's more of an epilogue. Or a really short baby chapter.
> 
> Anyways, I wrote this 'fic in three days. More than 12k words in three days, which is kind of a awesome, especially since typically I only write like 1k a day.
> 
> Apparently I'm just reeeaaallly in love with these characters. 
> 
> And, I'm plotting a follow up to this, and the first chapter should be posted by early next week. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for your kudos and your lovely comments!

Erin thinks that Patty and Abby notice. She doesn’t know how they can’t, because she and Holtzmann dance around each other, and she doesn’t know how they can’t see, can’t see the pump, pump, pump of her heart, the fluttering of butterflies, and twirling of fireflies.

Her skin burns with Holtzmann.

Holtzmann’s arms around her waist, Holtzmann’s thighs against hers, Holtzmann’s fingers entwined with hers. Holtzmann’s lips, against hers, gentle and fierce all at once, and the thought makes Erin light up like a bonfire, and it makes her _burn._

Because she knows what it feels like to kiss Holtzmann. She knows what Holtzmann tastes like.

And so she sits at her desk or stands at her whiteboard, and she watches Holtzmann and she _burns_.

-

They learn each other’s bodies, in those long hours between work and dawn. Fumbling, kissing, touching, like teenagers again. There’s a hesitancy there, both of them so afraid to do something wrong, to break this fragile web of _more_ that they’re creating.

They learn each other’s bodies with lips and tongues and teeth, with touches and kisses and _desire_. It is a dance between them, an exquisite, private, intimate dance that neither of them want to end.

-

They stumble toward the bed, stepping on each other’s toes. It’s not graceful like in the movies.

They caress and touch and taste. Their teeth bump and Holtzmann knocks her elbow against the dresser and Erin smacks the back of her head against the doorframe.

It’s nowhere near perfect. But somehow, it is.

-

“Oh, god, Holtz-“

“Erin-”

“No, don’t stop-“

“Yes, right there. Oh, my g-“

-

They lie together, tangled in bedsheets, the pulsing thread of _more_ bright and burning between them. Fingers entwined, legs tangled, skin against skin.

Erin wants to sear this moment into her memory forever. Holtzmann, in front of her, skin pale, eyes wide and dark in the blackness, hair escaping its normal confines to tangle on the pillow. On Holtzmann’s pillow. This, this somehow feels far, far more intimate than anything they’ve just done.

They are peaceful.

“Hey, Holtz?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For…everything.”

The silence falls comfortably between them, and Erin reaches out, traces the line of Holtzmann’s collarbone, her shoulder, her arm.

“Hey, Erin?”

“Yeah?”

“I can be Jillian to you.”

Erin answers by kissing her.

-

They’ve had busts go wrong before. That’s not unusual.

But this is the first time that one going wrong has made something so right.

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to post this all in one chapter, but it's turned into a beast of a fanfic, and posting it all in one chapter seems a bit...overwhelming. I was intending it to be only around 5k words, but NOPE, my shipper heart and writer brain insisted that I keep going.


End file.
